Cheap Thrills
by Carrie On
Summary: After his father's death, Lotor begs aid from the Galaxy Alliance in restoring his planet to glory. Not sure what to make of him, the Garrison brass sends Staff Sergeant Norah James to follow him around for three weeks. Those three weeks change everything for the unlikely pair.
1. Chapter 1

_On Zarkon's death, Lotor becomes the leader of Doom. Through personal introspection, he decides that he no longer wants to continue on the path of total domination which his father began. Instead, he'd rather his planet become more neutral, seeking help from allies and making peace with former adversaries. To accomplish this goal, he renames his home planet as Korrinoth, its original moniker, and beseeches aid from the Galaxy Alliance._

 _On Planet Earth, Norah James has thrown herself into her job at Galaxy Garrison. Having been dumped by her first serious boyfriend, Sven Holgersson, after he was named part of the original Voltron Lion Force─and then, several years later, by her second serious boyfriend, Jeff Dukane, once he was promoted to commander of the Voltron Vehicle Force─she has sworn off love and dedicated herself to her career. Being an ambassador to a spoiled prince whom she's not quite sure they can trust was not at the top of her list of things to do, but if she wants to get paid, she has no choice other than to accompany the new Korrinthian leader around Washington D.C._

 _In three weeks, Lotor and Norah leave deep impressions on each either, which neither of them saw coming…_

* * *

A/N: This story takes place in the Devil's Due Press and, mainly, in the Dynamite comics, with other background information taken from "Defender of the Universe" and "Vehicle Voltron." All items owned by World Events Productions.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **"Going Down In Flames and I'm Taking You"**

* * *

Prince Lotor had never, not even once, broken out his mourning attire. There had never before been a reason to. At least, not of this caliber.

Hundreds of thousands of Doom's citizens had come to see Zarkon's broken body lying in state. It was as though they had to see it to believe it. After all, how could their king be dead? After so many years with him on the throne, it seemed unbelievable.

But it was true.

Lotor had no idea how it happened─or, for that matter, _what_ had happened. All he knew was that the old witch Haggar and her blasted blue cat, Coba, had died alongside his father. In _her_ lab. What had they been doing in there? He shuddered to think.

Numbness spread throughout his body with each heartbeat, magically erasing the nauseating combination of relief, horror, despair, and guilt which flowed through his veins. He was in charge now. Doom was under his control.

What did he want to do with the planet now? What direction did he want to take it in, how did he want to grow as a ruler? Because he was the ruler now. His people would look to him for some hint of how to carry on.

Did he even _want_ to be ruler?

 _Not like this. Not the way_ _he_ _wanted me to be._ He gazed upon his father's body. None of their citizens seemed to be in mourning. True, there was nothing as insolent as outright laughter, but not one tear was shed by anyone who came to pay his or her final respects to the deceased king.

Something had to change. Doom could not keep going on its self-destructive path. If things were going to get any better, Lotor had to take some decisive actions. Already a plan formulated in his head.

But he would not set anything in motion until his father's body was burned.

* * *

As the high-speed elevator came to a stop in the lobby, Norah James itched the back of her head where the bobby pins holding her bun in place were digging into her scalp. It had been yet another long day at Galaxy Garrison's headquarters. Well, she supposed that was what happened when one was named as assistant to the communications chief. Work was nonstop from the moment she punched in until the moment she clocked out.

She should have been grateful to be climbing the corporate ladder at the Garrison. _After all_ , she thought, wrinkling her brow, _it's not like I was given the same opportunities as some of my Academy classmates._ She had yet to fully forgive them, those two in particular, but she saw no reason to elevate her blood pressure by thinking about them at this second. Better to wait until she was home.

Once out on the street, Washington D.C. in all its glory rose to meet her. This section of the city had changed dramatically in the years since she'd become a student. Retail shops and restaurants, museums and galleries, apartment buildings and hotels had cropped up where there had been nothing before. _It looks like a real city now_ , Norah mused, grateful for the distraction. Her mind had been going towards a bad place.

She lifted her head to the tallest building on the horizon, which still wasn't nearly as intimidating as Galaxy Garrison's domed roof. It was an impressive hotel, brand-new and chic, with a marbled lobby and supposedly sprawling guest rooms. From what she'd heard, the top floor was a magnificent penthouse, lent out only to the highest-caliber guests which Space Marshall Graham and his ilk hosted. She would have loved to see the suite in person, but she knew she wasn't high enough on the totem pole to warrant a tour.

The sky was overcast, and the scent of rain hung in the air. _Why wouldn't it?_ Her bad mood returned, and as much as she didn't want to be upset, she was. This time of year always left a bad taste in her mouth...but _this_ year was the worst.

Norah realized how grateful she was to already have a bottle of wine to complement her dinner.

She picked up her pace, grateful that her apartment complex was within walking distance of the Garrison. Tonight was going to be a bad night, she could feel it. At least she would have the wine to dull her pain. After all, it was the only source of happiness she had left.

* * *

Cossack was the only commander left from his father's fleet─really, the only one now left of Zarkon's inner circle─who was allowed to converse with the prince while he was in mourning. Though he tended to be, as Zarkon once alluded to, "a bit of a dimwit," he _was_ fiercely loyal to the royal family. And for that, Lotor was grateful.

"Sire," he called to the prince, dropping to one knee, "I came to check on you. I wanted to see how you were holding up after the day."

Lotor had shed his mourning attire and had changed into a pair of comfortable silk pajamas, a deep blue color which set off his flawless violet skin and magnificent white mane. "I'm still upright," he answered at length, sipping from the goblet of wine in his hand. "Deep in thought, mostly."

"About what?" Cossack looked genuinely interested.

"About which direction I'm going to take this planet in." The prince closed his eyes. "The first thing I want to do is get rid of the name _Doom._ We're better than that, Cossack. I want to revert back to what we were called before my father took the throne."

"Korrinoth." Perhaps Cossack wasn't such a dimwit, after all.

"Yes. And from there, I want you to command a border control fleet. Nothing more, nothing less. I won't seek out to conquer other planets or use violence to expand the empire, but I _will_ protect and defend my people. I won't tolerate any other species trying to overpower us."

For a moment, the commander looked as though he wanted to protest, but thought better of it. "As you wish, Sire."

"But before you do so, Cossack, I have a very important job for you."

"Oh?" He looked up.

"Yes. I need for you to help me on a few counts with Castle Doom. First, we'll need to inventory the treasury, distinguish between what is actually ours, and what we've plundered from other planets. Next, we'll need to clear out any and all belongings of significant value, and move them to the smaller Doom Palace, where I normally reside." He took a sip of his wine, watching as Cossack's mind twirled with the information. "Then, we'll have to transfer all information stored in the control room here to the one at Doom Palace."

"It might not be a bad idea to make sure that all the equipment in Doom Palace is up and running," Cossack suggested.

"Of course. In which case, that is the first thing we'll do: we'll get Doom Palace's control room up and running. Then we will clear out Castle Doom."

"Sire, am I correct in assuming that you want to make Doom Palace your home base over Castle Doom?"

That was a loaded question, and Lotor was pleased that the commander had been smart enough to follow along this train of thought. _My father obviously did not give him enough credit. Cossack is no dimwit._ "For now, yes. I have plans for Castle Doom. Plans that include a complete overhaul."

He nodded.

"But for now, Cossack...you may want to pack up your things and relocate to the Palace."

* * *

Once safe within the confines of her one-bedroom apartment, Norah ripped off her uniform and headed straight for her silky pajama pants and lacy camisole. As she removed her confining undergarments and changed into something a little more comfortable, she studied her face in the mirror and pulled her hair out of the bun.

She was average-looking at best. Shoulder-length light brown hair with a few natural highlights from the sun. Large hazel eyes with flecks of grey which were set, in her opinion, a tad too far apart. Milky skin with a handful of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

 _I'm no great beauty. No wonder neither of them wanted to stick around._

Angry and saddened at the same time, she opened the bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. She had saved it for just this occasion─she'd bought it a year ago, spending way too much money on it, when she thought that they would be celebrating their impending nuptials. So it seemed unreal when, instead of asking for her hand in marriage, he broke up with her. Sure, he tried to do it nicely, to let her down easily, but it was so absurd that she couldn't help but laugh. And then, in the privacy of her apartment, cry.

Norah had never had a serious boyfriend until her junior year at the Academy. She'd spent the first two years silently crushing on her classmate Sven Holgersson, a tall, dark, hard-working Scandinavian. He was always a ladies' man, charming the girls with his smile and his accent.

And he charmed Norah, too. He literally charmed the pants off of her.

She never had been sure how, exactly, she landed him. But she knew she wanted to keep him. Sven was the perfect boyfriend, experienced with women in _and_ out of the bedroom. She'd never asked how many lovers he'd had before her. She didn't want to know the answer.

Their one-year anniversary came and went with an enormous bang. She remembered a fancy restaurant whose name she could not recall now, smiles and kisses and hand-holding, a pretty gold ring to wear on her finger "until I put an engagement ring on you." She expected to see a diamond in the next few months, after they graduated from the Academy.

But the night before graduation, Sven broke up with her.

"We have a mission," he tried to explain. "Top secret. It's me, Keith, Lance, Tsuyoshi, and Darrell. Keith's in charge, and I'm second-in-command. That's all I know."

"But..."

"Norah." His lips smiled sadly, though his eyes did not. Sven had never mastered the art of both features expressing the same emotion at the same time, not when he was faking it. "It's either you or my career...my future with the Garrison."

"I take it you're not choosing me."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. I thought _I_ was your future. Or at least a part of it. I'm glad to know you're such a good liar, Sven Holgersson. I only wish I'd known sooner."

He'd shrugged, and she walked away without so much as a glance back in his direction. She only wished she'd thrown that gold ring back in his face.

Later on, she'd felt guilty when she heard about what befell him on Arus, and then afterwards, on both Planets Ebb and Doom. But from the gossip that had been running rampant at the Garrison recently, he seemed to be cozier than ever in his betrothal to Romelle, the crown princess of Planet Pollux, so she didn't need to feel guilty anymore.

But if Sven had been bad, well, Jeff was a hundred times worse.

Jeff Dukane hadn't been pleased when Keith, not he, was chosen as the leader for the secret expedition. Truth be told, he was rather annoyed that he hadn't been chosen to take part in the mission at all, and he was just hot-tempered enough to let everyone around him know. Subtlety, she surmised, had never been one of his strong points.

Once the five chosen ones had been sent into orbit, she found herself nursing her fractured-but-not-broken heart at a local hotel bar. As she drank cheap glasses of wine and grew tipsier by the hour, she heard commotion out in the lobby.

Apparently, Norah wasn't the only one who had chosen to drink her disappointment away at that hotel bar. Jeff had been there all along, his rage growing stronger with every cocktail that found its way down his throat, until he clashed with some patrons and threw his fists around, causing him to get kicked out.

"Jeff! What are you doing?" she screeched as security ushered him out of the bar.

"Ma'am, do you know who this is?" The security guard shot her a disgusted look, almost as though she was the one at fault.

"Yes."

"Then get him out of here." The burly man shoved Jeff into her arms.

Standing in the hotel lobby and struggling to hold his weight up, Norah wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Hey Jeff, how drunk _are_ you?"

"Not drunk enough." He slumped down the side of her body, landing squarely on the floor. "I don't think there's enough alcohol in the world for me to get over this."

"Get over _what_?"

"The fact that those fuckin' pansy Garrison higher-ups sent _Keith_ instead of _me_ on that top-secret mission." He pounded his fists on the tile like a child throwing a temper tantrum. "You know we had the same class rank, right? Same classes, same grades, same abilities."

 _But not the same temperament. I can't imagine Keith starting a drunken bar fight on account of not being named part of a team._ "And my boyfriend─the one I thought I'd be engaged to at this moment, I might add─chose said top-secret mission over me. You think _you've_ got problems?"

He paused for a moment to let that statement sink in. "Then I guess we've both been fucked over," he concluded.

"Yeah, I guess so."

She didn't have enough money for a hovercab for both of them to get home, so she settled on bringing Jeff back to her place. He passed out on her bed almost immediately, and she laid next to him all night, never bothering to undress, listening to his drunken snoring and wondering how she'd been with Sven not even one week earlier and was now in this predicament.

The next morning, she woke up to an empty apartment. Jeff was gone without a trace, not even bothering to leave a message behind.

Until she received the flowers at her front door, pink roses and peonies and baby's-breath, with a handwritten note attached: _I'm sorry I was a drunken asshole last night. Thanks for being my knight in shining armor. XO Jeff_

From there, they were almost a foregone conclusion. They began dating, seriously and immediately, despite the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her that she was settling, that Jeff Dukane was not the right man for her. She was good at ignoring those feelings, though. Her desire to settle down, to marry and start a family, was stronger than her doubts.

Though he was hot-headed and quick-tempered, he was also a doting boyfriend. They made a cute couple, and he showered her with attention and affection. Even when he had his outbursts─usually the catalyst was a promotion he'd been passed up for─she knew how to deal with him.

Until their third anniversary.

It had been three years since that drunken night at the bar, and she was sure that Jeff was ready to propose. After all, he'd been hinting about the two of them moving in together, coyly asking her ring size, and debating with her about whether the spring or the fall was better to hold a wedding. (They both agreed that summer in D.C. was too hot.) Now that they were twenty-five years old, they seemed mature enough to get married, and Norah was sure that he would ask.

Hence the expensive bottle of wine. It was supposed to be for their post-proposal celebration.

She was certain that Jeff would ask her to marry him over dinner. Or, when he didn't, dessert. Or, back at his nearly empty apartment ( _Why is it nearly empty?_ she remembered thinking), after he tore their clothes off, slid his manhood inside her and thrust away at her until both of them had climaxed. She was so damn sure, even then, that he would propose.

It wasn't until after the sex, when they laid next to each other on his bed, naked and damp, that he told her about his promotion. "So I've been named as commander to a team."

"What? Oh my God, Jeff, that's great news! Congratulations!" She placed a quick peck on his lips, one which he did not return.

"Norrie...it's that new Vehicle Voltron. The one that the Garrison put together with Dr. Loring as Earth's version of Lion Voltron." He propped his head up to look at her. "I'm being stationed in outer space. On the Stellar Ship Explorer."

She froze. "What does that mean?"

He rubbed her shoulder with his free hand. "Norrie, I'd hoped to hell that the Garrison had named you to the roster, too. Or at least, that they'd found a position for you on the ship." He shrugged. "But you're not on it."

"So...what are you saying, Jeff?"

"I'm saying that if you _were_ , we'd be getting married this weekend. That we'd go into this mission together as husband and wife."

"But since I'm not..."

"Since you're _not_ , I don't think it's a good idea for us to keep seeing each other."

It was so ridiculous. She was back in the same predicament she'd been in three years earlier. It was Sven all over again, this time on steroids. As she rolled away from him and swung her legs over the edge of the bed to get dressed, she laughed.

"Norrie?"

"What, Jeff?"

"Are you okay?"

"No."

"I'm really sorry."

"Yeah," she snorted, pulling her clothes on, "I'm sure you are." Then, once she'd dressed, she left his apartment and hailed a hovercab back home. It was only there that she found herself crying, unsure if she would ever stop.

Now, as she sat on her couch, drinking that expensive wine which she thought she would be toasting her engagement to Jeff with, she found herself contemplating the fact that she'd been single for an entire year. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with being boyfriendless, of course. It was just that she was twenty-six and wanted a family. Was that so wrong? Why was that so difficult to accomplish?

To make matters worse, Jeff was thriving in his position as commander of the Voltron Vehicle Team. Not that she begrudged him any sort of success in his career, but she'd also found out that he had begun a relationship with Lisa, one of his teammates, since being onboard the Explorer. Marriage seemed imminent for him, much as it was for Sven.

Her ex-boyfriends were living out her dream and accomplishing her goals, all while she tried to find her reason for living in a career she was no longer certain about. Perhaps her parents had been right─Galaxy Garrison really _hadn't_ been the best choice for her.

Thinking on that, she lifted her wineglass to her lips and swallowed its remaining contents in one gulp.

* * *

Castle Doom's throne room was empty, save two people, one alive and one not. Lotor and Zarkon.

The prince knew that he should have burned his father's body several days earlier, once all of Doom's citizens had paid their respects and memorials had been held. But there hadn't been time, there was too much to do. He and Cossack had been busy carrying out all the deeds he had outlined to the commander the first night Zarkon's body had lain in state. The fact that they had accomplished so much in so little time was a testament to their hard, quick work.

"Father. The time has come."

Lotor knew that this had to be done, and that only he could perform the task. It was a sobering thought. He had been dreading this from the moment he'd learned that his father had passed away.

"You knew that I would have to succeed you eventually, yes?"

He didn't know why he was speaking to a corpse. Stalling, perhaps. Or perhaps he knew that this was the last time he would ever see his father before his eyes─the last image not in his mind or in a photograph─and wanted to have it for as long as possible. Either way, he knew there was only one way this scenario was going to end.

"You know, Father, I understand that I was a disappointment to you. The last thing you ever said to me was that I was a fool. The last name you ever called me was _Fool_. And yet, I still stand here, mourning you properly...grieving you, even." He swallowed, taking the torch in his hand. "I understand─I hope we _both_ understand─that, as much as I despised you, you were still my father. And at the end of the day, no matter what, blood ties can never be severed." Reverently, he lowered himself to one knee, the flames in his hand dancing over the dominoes of wood leading Zarkon's funeral pyre. "With this final act, consider us at quits. I will lead our planet as I see fit, in a new direction, with new ambitions and goals. I will never disrespect your memory, but know that I will never honor it by carrying on your plans."

He lit the first piece of wood.

The flames licked the wood slowly at first, lapping at the block until it, too, was engulfed. Then the fire spilled over to the next block, heading towards Zarkon's lifeless body.

By the time Lotor made it outside, smoke was pouring out of the windows of Castle Doom. Very few citizens had gathered to watch, as no one could have predicted that the entire building would become Zarkon's funeral pyre. Cossack stood by silently, his features twisted in a grim expression.

"Penny for your thoughts, Commander," Lotor spoke lightly.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Castle Doom went up in flames," Cossack admitted at length. "At least, not by our own hand. By the Voltron Force, perhaps, but not like this." He shook his head. "Oh well. It's better to burn it all down and start fresh, like a phoenix from the ashes, than to be conquered by the enemy. Yes?"

The prince blinked. "I see where you're going with this, Commander, but I have no desire to create more enemies. Instead, I would like to repair those bonds as best I can. We need allies more than ever."

Cossack merely nodded.

Once Castle Doom was engulfed in flames, more and more citizens came by, watching. Security established a perimeter to make sure the blaze did not get out of hand, and the prince was sure that none of his people would venture too close. This was, as he reminded them, King Zarkon's final resting place. A new castle for their planet─a symbol for the glory that Korrinoth was eager to achieve─would be built on the ashes of the old.

"I'm tired, Cossack." Lotor turned away from the burning castle and headed towards Doom Palace. "I'm going to head to my chambers now."

"Not a bad idea, Sire." Cossack turned to look at the flames once more, then turned his back on it. "I have half a mind to retire as well."

The two men headed away from the burning scene and started in the direction of Doom Palace. Today was the last day on Korrinoth with Zarkon's shadow imprinted on it, hanging over it. Tomorrow, everything would be new, and only greatness and glory would follow.

No matter how difficult those things would be to achieve.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read & reviewed. It's very much appreciated!

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **"Is It Too Late to Apologize?"**

* * *

The letter which Prince Lotor had to draft for Galaxy Garrison was simple: he had to formally declare the death of King Zarkon; he had to submit his petition to rename his planet from _Doom_ to _Korrinoth_ ; he had to apologize for his father's crimes; he had to beg leniency from the Alliance.

It was the idea of humbling of himself in front of the Galaxy Alliance which he had the most trouble with. Not because he had a problem with apologizing; on the contrary, he was prepared to do so for many years down the line. No, it was the fact that they would be skeptical, and remain so for a long time, perhaps even for the rest of his life.

"They'll never believe me, Cossack," he groaned to his commander. "The heads at Galaxy Garrison might believe that my father is dead, and they'll have no problem with the idea of renaming this planet, but they will never, _never_ place their trust in me. No matter what I say or do, they will never truly believe that my actions and intentions are good."

Cossack thought for a moment before replying. "That may be so, your Highness," he answered at length, "but unlike your father, _you_ have nothing to hide. Any crimes you committed against Galaxy Alliance territories were strictly under your father's orders. _You_ did not orchestrate any attacks, you merely carried them out."

"That's true, Cossack. Thank you. That makes me feel a little better...though not much."

"I try, Sire." The commander straightened upright in his kneeling position.

"And Cossack…?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Don't let anyone call you a _dimwit_ ever again. You're much smarter than you know."

Cossack grinned, baring his pointy fangs. "No one's ever told me I was smart before."

"Well, you are. Remember that. And furthermore—" Lotor placed his hands on the commander's shoulders "—I will _not_ have you kneeling in front of me any longer. You are the only one in my inner circle, Cossack. You alone do not have to kneel before me."

The commander jumped to his feet. "You mean it?"

"I mean it."

Cossack looked beyond pleased. "Thank you, Sire!"

It was the first smile that Lotor had managed since his father's death. The one act that had made him feel for certain that he was doing the right thing. Now he had to compose that draft to the Garrison.

And then he would head into town. He was going to need new clothes if he was going to become the next ruler of a planet on the dawn of a new horizon.

* * *

Though she hadn't risen to _Commander_ the way Keith, Sven, or Jeff had, Norah was proud of her rank nonetheless. _Staff Sergeant._ It sounded nice as her superiors and fellow peers greeted her. It felt good to know that she had earned that title, that Space Marshall Graham himself had bestowed it upon her once she was named assistant to the communications chief. After all, _he_ knew better than anyone that she did the lion's share of the work.

Once she walked into the office, she greeted her immediate supervisor, the Chief of Staff, Eric Gaines. "Good morning, Staff Sergeant," he greeted her absently, his eyes glued to his computer screen and his fingers scrolling furiously.

"Good morning, Chief Gaines."

"I'm going to send this to you." He frowned, clicking on an icon. "I want you to look into it. Report back, let me know what you think."

"Of course, Sir." Norah saluted, then headed over to her desk. She turned her computer on and waited for whatever it was that the chief sent her to show up in her inbox. It must have been good if he was sending it the moment she walked in.

 _There it is._ She clicked on the message, which claimed it was from Planet Doom. _Doom? Are you kidding me?_ Her eyes widening, she read it in full.

 _To the Communications Department at Galaxy Garrison:_

 _My name is Prince Lotor, son of King Zarkon of Planet Doom. I regret to inform you of the recent passing of my father. I have attached his Death Certificate to this transmission._

 _I know that my father did not do anything to ingratiate himself to the Galaxy Alliance. As his sole heir, I would like to take my planet in a different direction than what was in his vision. I would like your assistance in all matters associated with this plan._

 _My first step towards bringing my planet to greatness is by changing its name. I would hereby officially return to its original title of "Korrinoth" and rid the universe of the name "Doom." I have also attached a copy of my court petition; please update your records._

 _I would like to meet with Garrison officials and discuss ways of making amends for what my father and I have done to Earth and to other planets within the Galaxy Alliance. I know we have caused more than our fair share of pain, violence and grief, and if there is any way I can atone for these sins, I am willing to do so. Please contact me at your earliest convenience so that we may discuss further._

 _Thank you,_

 _Crown Prince Lotor of Korrinoth_

Immediately after reading the email and its attachments, she stood up from her desk and beelined over to the chief. "I don't know _what_ to make of that."

"I didn't either," Chief Gaines admitted. "Is it true, Zarkon is _dead_? And what about Lotor's intentions? Do you think he's being sincere, or is this another one of his traps?"

"The death certificate looks real enough. So does the court petition." She shrugged. "As for Lotor's intentions, well, it's anyone's guess. He's done some real nasty stuff in his lifetime. Who knows if we can trust him?"

"I think you should bring this matter to the Space Marshall's attention. He would be able to make a better call than we are."

She nodded. "I'll bring it to Commander Steele. He can gain the Space Marshall's ear better—and faster—than we can."

"Excellent. Now go."

"Yes, Sir." She saluted, then raced off to find the commander. This news was too big to sit on for long.

* * *

A very long time ago, the capital city of Doom— _Korrinoth,_ he reminded himself—had been christened as _Despair._ It seemed too overwhelming to change both names at the same time, so Lotor was willing to sit on its mournful title for whatever amount of time it would take to ease the transition.

Besides, he had a reason to be there. He had to have an entirely new wardrobe made up to reflect his new status as ruler.

He'd heard stories about a tailor in Despair. Bartholo, his name was. He had dressed the richest citizens in his bespoke designs, and little did he know, the prince of Korrinoth was about to come knocking at his door.

The shop was not flashy and was difficult to find. The storefront was unassuming, with no windows and a small grey door which blended in with the dark stone walls. Even with no appointment, he knocked. He figured that this Bartholo character wouldn't be so stupid as to turn down a visit from his prince.

Nothing at first. Then the brusque click of heels against the floor, almost angry, followed by the door being flung open in his face. _If this is Bartholo, then I'd rather face Voltron's blazing sword._

The head tailor was short, barely coming up to Lotor's chest, but mighty enough to hold his own in a fight. "Yes?" he barked. "What do you want? Do you have an appointment?"

Lotor was mildly taken aback, but amused at the same time. "Mr. Bartholo?"

"What is it?"

"I have no appointment. My name is Lotor, and I was wondering if—"

 _"Prince Lotor!"_ The bespoke tailor's tone changed from one of irritation to delight. "It is an honor to have you in my shop. An _honor_!" He clapped his hands together. "Danta! Bring tea at once! We have a special client in the shop!"

In less than a minute, Bartholo had seated the prince upon a red velvet couch, and his assistant had brought a silver tray of hot water and fine teas forward. Lotor looked over the young lady appreciatively. She was a lovely Drule, small and fine-boned, with flawless violet skin and a patchy crop of yellow-green hair. "For you, Your Majesty," she cooed, dropping into a curtsy as she set the tray down in front of him.

"Thank you." Lotor made no move to touch the tea tray.

"So, Your Highness, what may I do for you?" Bartholo asked.

"First off, you and your assistant may stop referring to me as _Your Highness._ While I do appreciate it, in here, I am only Lotor."

Bartholo shot Danta a skeptical glance. "As you ask."

"Thank you." Lotor relaxed back against his seat, pulling up the sleeves of his mourning attire as he did. "Now, as you can see, I cannot spend the rest of my life wearing these same clothes. I would like for you to create a custom-made wardrobe for me, one which I will be able to wear on a daily basis, not only for business but for connecting with my people. I want to look approachable."

"Forgive me, Your—er, Lotor," Danta spoke up, "but you would like an _entire_ wardrobe?"

"That's the reason I'm here."

Bartholo's eyes nearly glazed over as he calculated the tab in his head. "I will make sure you receive a discount for such a large order. As you know, fine garments take time to construct, and they are not cheap."

Lotor waved his hand in dismissal. "You will do no such thing. I will pay full price because I want to put that money into the Korrinthian economy. I expect that you would do the same for your home planet, Mr. Bartholo."

The short man nodded vigorously. The prince doubted whether or not he was telling the truth, but he didn't much care. "Of course I would," Bartholo answered. Then, to his assistant, he barked, "Danta! Get the measuring tape. We must take his measurements at once, we don't have a moment to waste!"

The green-haired imp disappeared from sight in search of the measuring tape. When she returned, she beckoned for the prince to stand. "Please let me take your measurements, Lotor. I'm eager to begin designing your new wardrobe."

Bartholo gave a critical nod, then vanished to another room. _He's probably calculating the totals now,_ Lotor thought with an internal eye roll as he rose to his full height in front of Danta and extended his arms to the side. _The bastard is so greedy, he can't wait to collect his pay. Not that I blame him, but even so..._

"You must forgive him," Danta whispered into his ear as she measured the length of his right arm. "He is the owner of this business, but he is _not_ the boss."

"No?" That came as a surprise.

"He hasn't been the boss in years. He leaves everything to me—measurements, sketches, construction, tailoring—and then _he_ collects the pay." Her cheeks began to color in frustration. "Worse still, he puts _his_ name on the clothes, even though he's not the one who designed them."

The news shocked Lotor, and yet it shouldn't have. _Those old Drule bastards still live by the old Drule ways. That's a pattern I intend to break._ "Well, Danta, _I_ will know who made the clothes. When do you suppose you'll be done with your apprenticeship with Bartholo?"

She motioned for him to lower his arms so she could measure his neck. "Who knows?" she scowled. "I have to earn enough commission to 'buy' my freedom. Except that the people aren't buying many bespoke items these days, and my commission isn't that great."

"You have to _buy_ your freedom?"

"In a manner of speaking."

As Danta continued to take his measurements, Lotor seethed. _This_ was the reason he was changing the planet. There would be no more injustices, no more blatant greed. Korrinoth was moving in a new, different direction.

And as he stood there, being measured by a talented young woman who was completely being taken advantage of, he realized that not only was he doing the right thing, but it was also more important than ever.

* * *

Norah carried her tablet under her arm and kept her head down as she made her way to Commander Steele's office. She hated that so many people at the Garrison, regardless of their rank, misunderstood their relationship.

Though the Academy was much like any college, accepting students after high school, usually at the ages of seventeen or eighteen, Norah had interviewed early. Her parents—good, hard-working, blue-collar people with no advanced education that was of any use—had tried a thousand times to dissuade her from going into the realm of space exploration. She rebelled by interviewing at the age of sixteen.

It wasn't really an interview, more like an information-gathering session. But Commander Steele humored her, taking her on a tour of both the Academy and some of the less-restricted floors of the Galaxy Garrison headquarters. At the time, she was sold. She bought into the idea of space exploration entirely and never looked back.

The commander had spent much time explaining that his own daughter Monica, about eight years older than Norah was, had graduated from the Academy two years earlier and had immediately gone into outer space. She was on a mission of her own, and he admitted that he hadn't seen her in many months, and he missed her terribly. Norah was similar in looks and reminded him of her.

Two years later, when Norah had been admitted as a freshman to the Space Academy—before Sven or Jeff or any romantic faux pas she may have made—the commander had come to greet her with somber news. Monica had been killed on her mission the year prior, and he had never gotten to tell her good-bye. This was especially poignant for the incoming student, as her parents had heavily vocalized their disapproval in her education and told her not to contact them unless she planned on leaving.

Norah needed a parent, and Commander Steele needed a child. They each fit the criteria.

Now, after so many years, there was nothing the commander wouldn't do for the staff sergeant—short of sending her into outer space, that was. He had already lost one daughter to her mission. He wouldn't risk losing another.

Hence, the reason she had been denied a post on the S.S. Explorer. Even if it had cost Norah her romantic relationship.

Once she arrived at his door, she glanced over each shoulder quickly to make sure no one saw her. When she was sure the coast was clear, she keyed in the security code to his office. The door slid open, and she stepped inside.

The commander sat at his desk behind his computer screen, unperturbed by the opened door. "Staff Sergeant James," he greeted her without looking up. "It's too early in the morning for you to be here with an assignment."

"Don't be too sure, Commander Steele," she greeted him with a wry salute. "Chief Gaines received a message from Planet Doom this morning."

At the mention of the name _Doom_ , Steele paused and looked up from his computer. "You're kidding me."

"I wish I was." She showed him the message on her tablet, which he took from her to read more closely. "I've traced the attachments for Zarkon's death certificate and the court petition to change the planet's name back to their sources. They're legitimate."

"The certificates may be...but are Lotor's words?"

" _That_ , I don't know, Sir."

"Hmm." The commander re-read the message. "We should go to the Space Marshall on this one, Norah."

"Chief Gaines and I were hoping you'd say that, Sir."

"Come on." He gathered her tablet and took her hand. "Let's see what Dylan has to say about all of this."

* * *

 _Fury_ was not the right word to describe Lotor's emotions once he arrived back at Doom Palace. He wasn't furious at Bartholo, rather at the situation the man had placed his assistant in. After speaking with her, her taking his measurements and discussing what he was looking for in a wardrobe, the prince had learned a great deal about Miss Danta Kahlrim and her dedication to her art.

 _Outrage_ was perhaps the better description.

"Sire," Cossack greeted him upon his return, "I know you were busy, but we haven't yet heard a response from Galaxy Garrison."

"I'm not surprised." Lotor appeared unruffled. "They're probably in shock, wondering what to do with my message."

"Most likely."

"It's just as well. Tell me, have you heard back from any of the architects? I'm anxious to begin building Castle Korrinoth."

"Only one for now, Sire. I've left the contact information by your door. You can reach them at your convenience."

"Excellent. I think I'll do that over lunch. Thank you, Cossack."

"Of course, Sire."

His mind heavy with thoughts and ideas, the prince made his way back to his private chambers. There was so much to process and so much he wanted to accomplish. He had to remind himself that he could only do so much at one time.


End file.
